


Last of his kind

by Homer_TheBlindBard



Series: Rain on Me [4]
Category: The Batman (Movie 2021)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Colin Farrell Penguin, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Nightmares, Parties, Paul Dano Riddler, Riddlebird - Freeform, Slow Burn, ornithology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homer_TheBlindBard/pseuds/Homer_TheBlindBard
Summary: "Oswald, you are nothing like this animal."Oswald shot Ed a raised eyebrow."You aren't extinct like this is. Okay, maybe you're the 'last of your kind' but that just means it's your responsibility to keep the name Cobblepot alive!"Oswald swallowed the last of his drink as he thought about that."If it makes you feel better, I'm the last of my kind too." Ed whispered.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Gertrud Kapelput
Series: Rain on Me [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971652
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Ghosts

Gotham's sky was pitch black; the stars were blanketed out by the dark rain clouds that pattered down raindrops on top of his father’s umbrella. He remembered when he was a child, hopping down this same lamp lit path, holding his mother’s warm hand so early one morning when the sun had barely risen, he splashed in the puddles even as his mother’s umbrella cloaked them both from getting wet; and the pitter-patter rain was the melody to his skip, a muffled, ambiance in the background to the fun little Ozzie was having playing in the puddles as his mother watched on happily. 

He reached the gates that led down to the old house but turned around to greet the foggy woods that encircled it, the city's sparkling skyline was barely visible in the distance between the fog and tree canopy. 

With the outside world forgotten, he journeyed down the overgrown, winding path to the hidden manor. The trees leered over the path so that it looked like they were holding hands to keep the rain from entering the vacuum underneath and the way down was silent except for the clack of his own footsteps hitting the cobble. With no need for it, the umbrella disappeared unnoticed. 

Ahead was the front door. Through the door It looked like there was a light inside but when he tried, the door was locked. _Somethings not right_. He couldn’t look through the windows, the rest of the house was obscured by the thick row of trees and growth that locked him in a one-way system. Forward or back. To choose to turn back all there was was the dark woods to traverse and beyond that the city of thieves. Choosing to go forward there was this house and all of its secrets. He put his hand in his pocket to bring out a key. Turning it in the lock It worked; the door creaked open. Stepping inside was like walking into a past life as memories flooded his thoughts, so strange was the feeling of nostalgia of longing to return the house to its former state, warm and bright, full of laughter and adults, the smell of his mother’s perfume as he stood at her side, greeting the guests into their home. 

But now the only warmth came from a little lamp atop a dusty box on the bottom step and the house creaked since the floorboards had come loose from the invading damp. He picked up the lamp to light the way up the huge shadowy staircase. Dust laced the banister and could be seen gently floating like snowflakes through the illuminated air. The climb seemed to go on for years, _how high up was the second floor again_? When he finally reached the top, he wondered what he had been looking for, coming here. He looked around the maze-like corridors, the further in he went, the taller they seemed to grow, the shadows cast by the lamp growing longer and longer. He continued seeking until the light lit up a picture on the wall. There were two parents, fair haired and finely dressed, they held each other lovingly and between them stood a child. A boy with raven hair and eyes as blue and bright as the ocean. Oswald didn’t recognize him. But he knew the parents. **_They_** were who he was looking for. 

_They might be in their bedroom, maybe the guests haven't arrived yet and they’re still getting ready._ He turned around to find their room. The long corridor stretched on till it came to an end and his parent's door stood shut, light sneaking out at the bottom. He could hear urgent whispers coming from within,

“He’s not ready yet! He’s just a boy Harry.” 

“He deserves to know” 

“And what will other people say, when they find out? 

“No one will find out.” 

“We both know that’s not true, the truth always comes out.” 

“Exactly why we should sit the boy down and tell him.” 

“And what will the other kids say to him. They already make fun of him for being different.” 

“It will only make him stronger.” 

“Stronger? He was beat up today, Harry! He tried to hide it, but I know... A mother notices these things. He had bruises on his arms” 

“He needs to start standing up for himself!” 

Oswald was about to shout that he had defended himself, that he had always fought back. Given as good as he’d gotten. 

Hadn’t he? 

“Fine, but we must tell him soon Gertrud!” 

“Yes, we will, I promise.” 

But they never did tell him, and she had lied about that. 

He needed to know, to ask them before they left him again. 

He knocked on the door and begged for them to come out, but it was quiet now and the light under the door was fading. 

“Please! Mother, father! Please don’t leave, tell me the truth.” he pleaded.

But it wasn’t any use, he was shouting at ghosts. 

He blamed himself. For being so weak, for ever allowing himself to be bullied and letting his mother see the evidence. If he had been stronger to fight them off or smarter in hiding the bruises, then his parents wouldn’t think him so fragile. They would have told him. Wouldn’t they? 

Oswald crumpled on the floor, tears running down his little cheeks like rivulets of rain, so cold that they burnt his soft skin and pooled at his knees. He cried and wept till the tears filled up above his erratic beating chest. The water threatened to drown him as he remembered that he didn't know how to swim yet, not without his parents there to hold him. He kicked and thrashed as the waves snuffed out the lamp and the darkness enveloped his world in a black embrace. Oswald was plunged under the deep dark water, the fight in him was running out as hopelessness took hold of him. This was it. He would die not knowing. His worst fear. He would die, not knowing the truth, about his parent's deaths, about himself, about love.

Oswald stopped fighting, he looked up to meet his maker at last, to face judgement, he would be sent to Hell. Heaven was a place reserved for the good, people like his parents. He had killed and tortured, out of envy and greed and anger and for that there had to be some justice.

Above the light was calling him. Oswald floated towards it; the warmth welcomed him home, more than this drowning coffin of a house ever could and he held his hand out to greet it...

Oswald woke up, eyes fluttering open, to the view of morning light drifting into the recently polished bedroom of Cobblepot Manor.

The nightmare had begun by twisting his journey of return to his childhood home earlier that week and ended by reminding Oswald of an old, overheard conversation of his parent's during his youth. 

He rubbed his eyes and for once in a longtime he was glad to wake from slumber. 

Besides, he had a soirée to get ready for.

It had been close to 30 years since the old house had seen any visitors, the last time had been when Oswald was 15 and it was his Father's funeral. Shortly after that they were forced to leave behind the old place. **Good riddance** , Oswald had thought at the time, but it didn't take long for him to start missing it. Now, Oswald was using it much as his parents had, to charm the elite of Gotham with alcohol, food and entertainment. _Panem et circenses_ as the old Emperors used to call it. Appease the mob and I will build my Rome. 

Oswald chuckled at the comparison. _Did that make Ed Nygma his Agrippa and this plan their Battle of Actium?_

Tonight would be his introduction into the world of official authorities. Oswald had spent the last month, with the absence of any Riddler action following Falcone's murder, lassoing the criminal underworld under his belt. Many had 'bent the knee' as it were but there were some stragglers. But once Oswald had the support of the offices of power, it would become clear he was in charge and the breakaways would either return to the flock or starve with no choice but to eat each other.

The sound of clinking glasses and pouring champagne wasn't at all unfamiliar to Oswald, nor was his appreciation for a good grooming and expensive suit. This, however, the fact that it was his champagne people were drinking, the fact that they were toasting to him, to _ **his**_ health was a jarring oddity but nonetheless one he could probably get used to. And the suit he was wearing wasn't just expensive, it was _extortionately_ expensive!

"Mr. Cobblepot, my, you look wonderful and what a beautiful house you have. How very lucky you are" people said alike and praised him and his hard work in acquiring his old manor back, and congratulated his booming business. 

Of course most of them were just vultures, nipping at the remains of Falcone's empire and prostrating themselves for the new lion king. Oswald couldn't count the number of women that had started unashamedly throwing themselves at him.

 _Gold-diggers, Ugh._ He supposed he could follow the expected, let them hang on his arms like Falcone had, like Bruce Wayne juggled women like apples. But he just couldn't bring himself to care about doing the _expected_. 

Nonetheless, things were going swimmingly, until Oswald turned around to be greeted with the most punchable face he knew.

"Bruce." Oz held out his hand to shake the party-crashing brats hand. _If only you knew what's coming._

Bruce belligerently ignored the offered hand. "Hi Ozzie, I seemed to have misplaced my invitation, I hope you don't mind?"

 _Smarmy bastard._ Oswald would have fun kicking out the little shit in front of everybody.

"Actually-" Oz began.

"Hay! If it isn't John Bell!"

"Bruce! My boy, it's good to see you again." 

John Bell, an official Oswald was looking to get into favor with was now readily engaged in talk with Bruce Wayne. 

It seemed Oswald would have to wait to show this kid what for. 

In fact a lot of attention was now diverted to the Wayne and a crowd was forming around them. 

Oswald could see the women, who he'd politely rejected, eyes' light up at the sight of the billionaire.

_Of course. Any port in the storm_

Oswald was just inwardly cursing them all when his attention was snapped elsewhere.

He could have sworn he saw something flash past behind one of the columns near where people had just moved away.

Oswald left to inspect. What or who ever it was had gone down the left wing, towards the exhibition hall.

Oswald always kept his knife in his pocket close by in case. He opened the door to the exhibition hall which had been kept off limits since it held such expensive items. Oswald searched around but couldn't see anything. Maybe he really was going crazy. First that nightmare, now he's started actually seeing ghosts.

But then just as he turned around to return to the party Oswald came face to face with the intruder.

"Hi!"

 _"Jesus, fuck!"_ Oswald practically jumped out of his skin.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, oz." Ed looked sheepish as he apologized "It's just I thought we could talk privately."

"How did you get in here?" 

"Well it wasn't difficult really. And then I just kind of wandered about a bit, watching you... Sipping this." He laughed holding up the bubbly. "This actually tastes pretty good."

Oswald looked Ed up and down. He was wearing a cheap and too tight suit, in a dark green color, how the hell hadn't anyone noticed him? The snobs should have been tearing him apart and demanding to know who he was. 

Oswald's confusion must have showed on his face because Ed seemed to read his thought's, "Oh, well I may have relieved one of your waiters from duty and taken the job myself ( _and a few drinks_ ), and well nobody takes notice of the help, do they?" He shrugged. 

"Apparently not." Since Ed's hair was as messy and tangled as ever.

"Did you even try to scrub up?" Oswald said as he tucked the loose strands of hair back from Ed's face.

But It seemed Oswald had flustered Edward, either because he'd thoughtlessly insulted him or because he'd gotten so close to brush the side of Ed's cheek.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, it's fine!" He waved Oz off. "We don't all have the money for fancy suits!" He joked, trying to shift focus from his own blushing cheeks.

"But look at you! Looking good! I see being the gentleman of crime pays off." 

"Not nearly enough." Oswald quipped

"Well, you certainly seem to have some admirers." 

"What? Those moneygrubbers? Nah, they're just clout chasing old codgers."

"No, silly!" Ed said exasperated, "The **_women_** , they're all _looking_ at you. Like you're a tasty bit of meat."

Oswald almost spit out his drink, laughing.

"Careful! You'll choke!"

"Hha. Well then, don't joke like that Ed!"

"I'm **not.** They kept ogling you, all night."

"They were ogling my _money_ Ed. Not _me_."

Edward looked confused, like this was the **one** thing he just couldn't _understand_. "But they already have money, they're all wearing expensive jewelry."

"Some people will do anything for _more_ money."

"No, it doesn't make sense, they were definitely looking at you."

"Ed, have you seen me?" Oz said holding up his left flipper like hand and pointing to his face.

"What?" Ed asked genuinely confused as to what Oswald meant. He though Oswald was _very_ handsome.

"Nevermind." Oswald shook his head. "What did you want to talk to me about?" _Surely not Women._

"Well..." Ed drawled out, hands clasped behind his back, as he started to inspect the things on display in Oswald's mini exhibition. "Everything's going to plan, things can go ahead soon."

"Good... And?"

"What? Can't I just come and visit a friend?" 

"Not when I have to shmooz Gotham's elite. What if someone recognized you from the Mayors funeral?"

"Don't worry, nobody will recognize me."

"I'm not sure. You're not exactly normal looking."

Ed stopped when he heard that, he tried to look like he was just inspecting the old map that was on display, but his shiny green eyes were staring into space and his mouth was downturned. This was perhaps the longest he had ever gone with out speaking.

"I didn't mean it like that." Oswald panicked. "I meant you look... like.. good, young and not some stuffy upper-class twat who would be at the Mayors funeral or a place like this." Oswald felt ridiculous trying to explain himself.

Ed looked like he didn't know what to make of that but then seemed to brighten up, "You think I look 'good'?" he said hopefully.

Oswald couldn't help but blush. "Well, yeah, I mean how old are you? You look charming, in that suit." 

Ed shrugged, embarrassed, "I'm 36."

"No way. See, you look good," Oswald tried to convince him so that they could leave this awkward conversation behind, it was making Oswald feel things better left alone. "So, you like my little exhibition?" he tried changing the subject.

"It's wonderful."

Oswald made to join Ed who was near the end of the displays.

"It’s my hobby, especially ornithology and I enjoy collecting things."

Ed came to the last display.

Oswald noticed him give it extra attention and fixate on it intently, he must have liked it.

“This one’s my favorite too. One sold for $9000 back in 1971. It’s the Great Auk. 

"I know. They're extinct. How amazing that you have one. And sad." Ed added.

"Yeah, these little buggers are always getting mistaken for Penguins, just cause they look similar." Oswald knew what that was like...

“But they’re not. They’re closer to puffins than penguins and they were faster and better hunters, the original Pinguinus impennis!" Ed exclaimed, then he added somberly "But they were hunted to extinction by humans for their pretty feathers." he said pouting.

"Yeah, killed, their whole line made extinct, cause someone else coveted what they had." Oswald added gruffly.

He looked questioningly at Ed, "How do you know all this as well?" 

"Oh, I sort of just remember stuff. They had one at Gotham Museum but it was stole-" Then Ed snapped his head to look at Oswald accusingly and Oz couldn't help but smile guiltily, "Oswald!" Ed exclaimed.

“What! It belongs to me anyway! That whole museum should be mine. It belonged to my family.” Oswald tried to defend himself.

"This should be in a public place where people can see the consequences of greed!" Ed argued.

"Yeah... Look, I guess I just like it. A lot. It reminds me of someone I know." Oz shrugged.

Edward understood what Oswald really meant. "Oswald, you are nothing like this animal."

Oswald shot Ed a raised eyebrow.

"You aren't extinct like this is. Okay, maybe you're the 'last of your kind' but that just means it's your responsibility to keep the name **_Cobblepot_ **alive!"

Oswald swallowed the last of his drink as he thought about that. 

"If it makes you feel better, I'm the last of my kind too." Ed whispered.

Oswald was about to ask what he meant when a knock came from the door. Ed hid behind the Great Auk plinth.

"Mr. Cobblepot, it seems Mr. Bruce Wayne is demanding more to drink, apparently all the good stuff has already gone?"

Oswald waved him away and looked at Ed quizzically, 

"How much did you swig again?"

Ed, rolled around on the floor laughing, "not **that** much!" 

Oswald wouldn't admit it but his little talk with Ed had cheered him up a lot, he really didn't want to go back to the party and all the fake socialites.

"I've got to go, Ed. Will you be okay getting... home, or wherever, okay?" 

"I'll be fine. Thankyou, Oswald, I've enjoyed myself tonight."

"So have I.. I mean once you turned up..." Oswald coughed awkwardly, "Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight... Oh, I'll wait a minute then leave after you."

Oswald was grateful for that, he didn't know what people would say if they saw him and Ed leave an empty room where they had been alone for sometime... Not that Oswald cared what people thought.

But Oz waved goodbye and left feeling disappointed he couldn't stay and talk for longer. ** _Bloody Bruce._**

Ed was left in the dark hall, waiting.

But not alone.

"You should leave with what you've got. You don't want Mr. Penguin noticing anything missing, he'll know it was you." Ed warned.

There was a little brushing sound that came from the beams up ahead but no one replied.

"Do you really want to deal with me again? Cause you got another hand haven't you, maybe I'll take it for stealing." Ed contemplated.

"I mean, it's not like you have another dad I can kill." Ed tapped his chin dramatically. "Oh wait! Yes you do!" Ed started giggling like a mad man until Selina's venomous voice broke out, "You will both pay." 

Before he could reply, a window behind Ed was thrown open and the shadow was through it like a ghost in the night.


	2. Prodigy Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed goes back to the day he witnessed the death of his parents and was kidnapped by the Court of Owls to be turned into The Talon.

Once again it was October 31st 1997. Edward Nashton was 13 years old again. His brain conjured up the all too familiar room, partly remembered, partly filled in, and it was incredibly detailed that at first it really felt like reality; as though he had been given a second chance to change things. But Ed remembered that this was just a dream, he was asleep deep in the REM stage; when brain activity is highest and resembles the waking brain. And this particular simulation always ended the same way.

The remaining details buzzed into being as the scene was set, all the props and parts in place to enact the tragedy for Ed’s regular play.

His parents were sitting beside him. Ed was sure that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch them again, smell them, speak to them, his stimulated and inventive brain could easily recreate the old feeling, but it only hurt more when he did that. It was better to get the memory over with and then return to reality again. Most adults could wake themselves from a bad dream, Ed knew, if they were aware they were in a dream, but unlike everything else he grew out of so quickly as a child, the fear, lack of control and sense of inescapable dread that childhood nightmares held had never left him. Ed knew he had to play along with the show if he ever wanted it to end.

“- we will center our attentions on his particular talents.”

“we would love for Eddie to come to your school but we’re afraid we couldn’t afford the fees.”

“Perhaps I could have a chat with Edward, an informal interview? A scholarship is certainly a possibility. If he really is as bright as he appears - a probability.”

His mother squeezed Ed's hand comfortingly. She looked to him and he nodded.

His parents left to sit in the reception area.

_Please don’t leave me alone with him._

Mr. Clark sat on the edge of his desk with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hello Edward.” Clark said, his cold, dark eyes looked into his curiously

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Clark.” Ed said in awe. 

“Usually I get parents begging me for their children to come here, and the kids, they drag their feet, but I sense it’s the other way around with you. After all it was _you_ who contacted me.”

“Yes, I believe I have what it takes to get into you’re academy, sir.”

“Oh, I would agree. I have seen your record, your academic accomplishments. I have to say, it is not often I find prodigies as young as you, and certainly not ones so bright.

“Well,” Ed shrugged blushing from the praise. “it’s a bonus of having an Eidetic memory.”

“Yes but I think there’s more to you than just a good memory.”

Ed was quite flattered, at school he had passed through the grades with a natural ease, he was taking tests years above his own. His teachers had always been annoyed by this intellect and he was seen as an inconvenience more than an asset. Being the smallest in the class of young adults was more embarrassing than it was a boast. People called him a freak behind his back and to his face. People asked him if he had something up with him, like a condition or mental deviance, did he have autism? Insensitive questions like that. Ed responded the same each time, that he didn’t, but it shouldn’t matter if he did, he just remembered things and liked to learn.

“Tell me, what is your passion. What is your favorite thing to do?” Clark asked curiously.

“I love watching quiz shows. I watch them with my dad. I always answer correct, and if I don’t I just remember the answer for next time. One day I’ll go on one and win enough money for my family to buy a better house, somewhere safe in the suburbs. My parents can quit their terrible jobs.” Ed recounted his visions for the future. Hopefully he could make it brighter.

Something about Ed's answer didn’t seem to satisfy Clark. “Hmm. I imagine you beat them at most everything, it must feel good being so much smarter then most adults"

"I guess, sometimes? But it gets old after a while. Sometimes I pretend I don’t know something so they feel like I’m not so weird. I know they say it doesn’t matter but sometimes I can tell, they wish I was more normal like other kids.”

Clark knowingly nodded his head. It seemed as though he understood completely how Ed felt. “I see that, that’s why I asked to speak to you alone. That brilliance you have, you hide it because you know that it scares them. Because they don’t understand how special and amazing your brain is and how powerful that makes you. But I assure you, I see it.  
You should never have to have to hide your true self or who you are son”

Clark's words lit a flame in Ed's chest, “There’s so much more I want to learn and figure out. I’ve got this thing inside my head, sometimes I can satisfy the hunger but most time it feels like its consuming me from within. Sometimes I feel so small. So damn stupid! There’s this dark hole, an abyss I sometimes dream of, about falling into the darkness that goes on forever. It’s full of all the stuff I don’t know.”

“And when you stare into the Abyss, the Abyss stares back at you.” Clark confirmed

"Yeah."

“Well, I have to point out Ed that it is impossible to get over your fear if you don’t confront it. I would say do not just look into the abyss; rather leap into it. If it's knowledge you’re looking for then joining our family here is really the best way to find it.”

“But, I need to convince my parents to let me come here, and that will only happen if you give me a scholarship.”

“Oh Ed, I thought it was obvious, you already have one son.”

Ed gave his sunniest grin. His dream was really was coming true.

“But that shouldn’t matter, take them out of the picture. What about you Edward, what do you want? Hypothetically if you didn’t have to worry about your parents missing you, what would you do”

“I would say yes. Final answer.” Ed declared.

“Well then, Mr. Nashton, welcome to O.W.L Academy.”

...

His parents were called back into the meeting room. Ed was left somewhat miffed at them for making this whole thing more difficult then it had to be. Mr. Clark seemed a lovely and intelligent man.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nashton. Don’t look so worried, it was a delight talking to Ed.” Clark smiled

“We’re happy with him here. We just love him like crazy. He’s never lived apart, he just went to public school.”

“I have to say I think you were underestimating his capabilities. He would flourish here. He's not introverted or emotionally dysfunctional in any way, unlike most boys in his position his genius is not yet distorted by his outsized intellect. We can help nurture that, so if you’re concerned for his wellbeing, then I will assure you he will be in good hands.”

“Edward has reached the end of his time in public education. He is famished for knowledge. It would be an honor to have him at our academy. He could achieve so much here. I don’t know what fabulous gametry is inside his head but it really is something rare and special. It would be a waste to let it slip.”

“We’ll have to think about it” his parents said. They left Mr. Clark with the promise they would get back to him with their response.

The scene faded away and Ed found himself sitting on the crowded tram they had to take back to their apartment, though the other passengers were just shadowy figures in the background. Ed remembered sitting in the seat begging his parents to let him go. He would make them rich. They could live like kings. Forget a house in the Suburbs, they would live in a mansion!

His parents had looked at each other and silently agreed.

“Okay Eddie, if you really want to go and you have this scholarship, then we want you to go too."

Ed laughed and punched both fists into the air.

"Thank you! I love you!" He exclaimed.

His mom told him to remember that despite what Clark said, it wasn't his brain that was special, it was his _soul_. It didn’t matter that they didn't have much money as long they had him they were happy.

It was dark outside as Ed and his parents got off the tram. They lived in an apartment on the top floor, it was high up, sometimes Ed would go out onto the balcony and look out over the city, dreaming of a better life. 

In Ed's bedroom he was reading a book in bed until there was a knock on the door. His mom came in. She picked up the Rubix cube that had been knocked on the floor when Ed was running out earlier. It was a trifle to do for Ed but his dad had bought it for him so he kept it on his night stand.

“Good night Honey. Try to get some sleep, don't stay up reading all night again”

His dad passed the door on his way to bed.

“Night Kido!” he shouted.

Ed put his book down and tried to sleep.

Ed closed his eyes and the darkness enveloped him.

He woke up to dark, ringed vision and the sound of heavy breathing. It was the unmistakable sensation of wearing his thick camo overalls and the stuffy goggled mask that resembled a gas mask. Yet this wasn't Ed, this wasn't the Riddler. He struggled to break the hold it had over his body, but he couldn't break free. He was forced to move despite his internal protests.

He stalked through the silent home, down the dark foggy corridor to the targets. His hand took out a razor-sharp knife from the grisly tool belt around his waist as the bedroom door was silently pushed open, Ed's mother was sleeping, her chest rising and falling peacefully. The other side of the bed was empty. Only an indent spoke of another's presence in the quiet house. His muffled foot falls took him to hover over her innocent sleeping form. _Her only crime in life was giving birth to me._ Edward knew what was going to happen next and yet it didn't make it any less of a horrifying sight. His cold hands plunged the knife into her chest again and again until all of the vital fluids gushed out over the white sheets and her last gasping breaths called out for her son. The door to the bathroom was opened, casting a beam of light on the floor which was too bright for the goggles. He held up his hand to shield from the light until a black shadowy figure of a man eclipsed the light. There was a sound, as though the man had said something but the thing controlling Ed didn't care. The last target would be eliminated, so it took out its gun and raised it so that its silhouette was pointed at the the black shadow of a man, and shot him.

His Dad slid to the floor, kicking aimlessly, and clutching the hole in his side. He stalked over and shut him up with a final blow to the head.

Their bodies lay like ghoulish mannequins in the bedroom. The thing turned around and found the package trembling in the doorway, wide eyed and white as a ghost. This was Edward Nashton and the last memory of himself before he had a mask forced over his head that blocked the sight of his parents and cast him into unending darkness.

Ed jerked awake, dripping in sweat. Choking, his burning chest beating erratically and gasping for breath. As Ed tried to slow his breathing, tears were welling up in his eyes, he tried to fight them away but they came rolling down his cheeks like boulders in an avalanche. He clasped his hand over his mouth, holding his breath for as long as he could, willing away the pain.

He recited his comforting mantra to himself, "They don't control you anymore!" "He isn't here." "You killed him" "Remember" " _ **You**_ didn't kill them." " **You did not**."

It was true that Edward Nashton, a 13 year old boy hadn't killed his parents, instead he was taken and **made** into a killer. Yet when the police arrived that night they found the two dead bodies, and one other gone, the kid. And he was the most logical suspect. After all he was said to be brilliant and those were the ones who tended to be a little wonky weren't they? A little unstable? 


End file.
